The Cake and I
Once upon a time – before the outsourcing of dogs and children’s parties – mothers and caregivers made birthday cakes themselves. But sometimes a shop bought ice-cream cake was required.
Usually for girls this involved a legless doll about the size of a Barbie doll, embedded in a sturdy ice-cream gown. It would be heavily decorated with ribbons and piped ice-cream frills (similar to the photo above).
When it was unpacked at a birthday parties we kids were agog with delight. The ice-cream cake was packed in its own ritzy box, ensconced in a bed of dry ice. So when the box was opened the cake appeared magically on a cloud of heavenly mist.
The ice-cream cake was greeted with silent awe. Then it would be stabbed cautiously with a sharp blade so the birthday boy or girl could make a secret wish.
The Australian Women’s Weekly is celebrating its 90th year and on display in a regional gallery is their 1980 children’s birthday cake cookbook. So popular were homemade birthday cakes that this particular cookbook sold 80 million copies worldwide.
My mother was not a devotee of children’s birthdays or birthday cakes. The only cake Sarah enjoyed baking was Winston Churchill’s 80th birthday cake.
She followed the recipe down to the last raisin. Then over a period of days would saturate the huge fruit cake with lashings of first rate Cognac. After which Churchill’s cake would relax in a dark antique sideboard in the dining room until it made its debut. Usually for an adult’s birthday or the Christmas season.
Sarah had learnt to cheat when it came to making cakes. She would purchase two plain round sponge cakes from the supermarket. Then she’d fill them with hand whipped cream and ice them with either coffee icing for adults or strawberry or chocolate icing for children.
Having added candles and some creative touches, she’d ensure the sponge’s wrappings were out of sight – buried deeply in the kitchen rubbish bin. Because she was such a damned good cook our guests assumed she’d been slaving over a hot oven.
Children’s birthday parties in our town were not sophisticated. They usually involved decorated Victoria sponges or rainbow cake, Fairy Bread, sausage rolls, petite frankfurters with tomato sauce, cupcakes and jelly with ice-cream. Sometimes there would be Chocolate Crackles – rice bubbles smothered in an excess of chocolate and set in paper cupcake liners.
Fairy Bread was thinly sliced buttered white bread enhanced with the addition of hundreds and thousands. These were minute multi-coloured cake decorating sweeties.
When my English mother wanted to belittle something she’d declare it to be suburban. So if she put down another woman’s baking as suburban I intuitively knew it just had to be absolutely delicious. And I had to get my hands on it.
At one stage she had a lot to say about frozen peas which had been made violently green with bicarbonate of soda. I couldn’t wait to be invited somewhere where they served such exciting vegetables.
My friends mothers were adept at Hedgehog Cake – delicious chocolate squares embedded with crunchy biscuits, White Snow – confectionery involving of puffed rice and shredded coconut and cupcakes – with slashed tops filled with cream and all manner of sweet nothings. Unbelievably good. As were Chocolate Christmas Logs – a sensational pairing of sherry soaked chocolate biscuits smothered in whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles and shaped into a Christmas Yule log. Creative homemakers added a few little snippets of pine or a flamboyant loop of glittering tinsel.
I’d had to the back teeth with Pork Vindaloo, Beef Wellington, Coq au Vin and Bœuf bourguignon. My idea of fine dining was fish and chips from the local chippery. Eaten straight from the paper wrapping at the kitchen table with an excess of tomato sauce and everyone being funny and cheerful.
Fortunately I was frequently invited to my best friend’s house for dinner. Fish and chips on Friday night was a tradition in the Brown household. Subsequently I went through a brief stage of wondering how the hell I could get adopted by the Brown family.
photo: Dolly Varden cake from the 1980 Australian Women’s Weekly cookbook.